


Awaken

by mistr3ssquickly



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But it's the canon you all want, F/M, I'm not the boss of you, M/M, Or do lie to me, don't lie to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I saw,” Luke says. “I saw a vision. The future.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Most of us call those nightmares, y’know,” Han says around a yawn.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Most of us aren’t Jedi,” Leia informs him.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How TFA should've ended. Or not even started in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awaken

**Awaken**

Wrapped in the suffocating silence of sleep, Luke opens his eyes, and sees.

There’s smoke everywhere, thick and acrid from burning engine fuel and organic flesh, black billows obscuring his sight. He raises his hand against it, coughing, and sees through the endoskeleton of his bionic hand the brightness of flame obscured by a dark figure approaching him, the shadows around billowing black robes sliced through with the angry red glow of a lightsaber, the edges rough and uncontrolled, unrefined. The blade of a Sith not yet trained, power leaking from him like sands around an unsealed door, hatred and fear and doubt and anger pulsing with physical force, making Luke’s ears ring.

_Father,_ a voice says, a man’s voice, deep and rough with anguish.

_Anything,_ a voice answers. Han’s voice, close and low and hurting.

Luke turns and watches, impotent against inevitability as the Sith’s blade blinks into darkness for a ruptured heartbeat before it erupts in a single thrust, perfectly aimed to sever flesh and bone and nerves, a killing blow, intentional and passionless. Luke blinks and sees, the glow of the blade illuminating the expression on Han’s face, betrayal and pain and love and denial, screams riding the swirling smoke as Han falls, his hand catching Luke’s as Luke reaches for him, the weight of his fall pulling Luke with him, down into nothingness, the cold dark of oblivion stretching before them, endless and —

Luke’s face hurts.

_Stop that. Striking him won’t help._

Leia’s voice. Leia’s hand on his, where Han’s had been wrapped around it. Warm and small, gentle in a way his stripped prosthetic shouldn’t be able to feel. Calm. A comfort.

The falling stops.

_Luke,_ Leia says. _Come back to us._

_Not without Han,_ Luke tries to say but his mouth won’t move, the words coming instead on a different voice, the voice that said _Father,_ still laced with suffering and anguish. Pulling from his own throat, familiar as a distant memory, a younger man lying in his lover’s ship, maimed and alone and a failure, heartbroken in the face of truth he could not accept.

He draws breath and the Force recedes around him like an uncontrollable tide, and he grasps for it out of habit, feels it slip through him, heedless and unresponsive to his impulse, his panic. He tries to calm himself, to reach for the Force as he’s been taught to do, as he’s taught Leia to do, but the Force fades and reality takes its place, darkness marred by blurry shapes, the generic creature comforts he associates with _home,_ the word stale from its application over the years to countless Rebel bases and Alliance strongholds, to ships and barracks and quarters and assigned residences, nothing permanent, nothing owned. As transient as the memories he carries and does not consider too closely, his heart aching with the loss he’s witnessed across the years.

_“Luke.”_

His sister’s voice, low and close and heavy with concern.

_“You back with us yet, kid?”_

Han’s voice, rough with sleep and closer than Leia’s, precious and real.

Luke blinks and exhales, the immediate need for breath asserting itself in the insistent pounding of his heart, the headache gathering at the base of his skull. His throat tightens as he inhales, the sound of it loud in the quiet of the room, the sensors in his hand registering touch and grip, fabric shifting under his fingers. Muscle tense underneath, barely moving with elevated breath and heartbeat. Warmth, seeping through. The tremor of voice, a throat being cleared.

“Han,” Luke says, his own voice coming out choked.

“Right here,” Han says, “and not goin’ anywhere. Not with you pushin’ on me like that, anyway.”

Luke leaves his hand where it is. “I — I saw,” he says, looking from Han to Leia, worry and fear tightening his sister’s features. “I saw a vision. The future.”

“Most of us call those nightmares, y’know,” Han says around a yawn.

“Most of us aren’t Jedi,” Leia informs him. She softens, touching her hand to Luke’s where it rests on Han’s chest. “What did you see?”

Luke swallows. “I saw ... war. Death. A Jedi turned, like our father.” He loosens his grip on Han’s shirt, presses his palm flat against Han’s breastbone, covering the wound he saw inflicted on the man, Han’s heartbeat a steady comfort under his touch. “I saw your son,” he tells Han, meeting the man’s gaze. “I saw him turn on you. Murder you.”

“My _son,”_ Han repeats.

“Yes.”

“Funny. I haven’t got one of those, Luke.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever, if that’s how it’s going to go,” Han says. He slants a crooked grin at Luke that does not reach his eyes. “And here I was labeled a bad son for runnin’ off every chance I had. Shows what my family knew, huh?” The joke falls flat, awkward in the silence that follows. Han pushes himself up on his elbows, dislodging Luke’s hand from his chest. He reaches over to cup Luke’s cheek, his hand sliding back to thread his fingers through Luke’s hair, keeping him still. Cocks his head, meeting Luke’s gaze without blinking. “’Sides, what’re the chances I’d have a Force-sensitive brat? I don’t have any connection to the Force.”

“No,” Leia says, her voice low, “but I do.”

Luke pulls away from Han’s grip to look at her, something like panic clawing its way up his throat. Leia meets his gaze with an expression of calm not unlike the affect she adopts before addressing the Council, her power and control as impressive and intimidating as ever. “I saw a similar nightmare. Vision. My son, betraying the Jedi Order. Killing thousands, tens of thousands.” She glances at Han. Looks back to Luke. “I didn’t see any specifics, though. About the father. Or about the ... individuals killed.”

“When did you see it?” Luke says. “The vision?”

“Tonight. I woke when we heard you cry out.” She squeezes his hand, resting still on Han’s chest. “I suspect we saw them at the same time.”

Luke feels his chest go cold, fear creeping across him like frost. He drops his gaze to the twisted linen of Leia’s nightgown resting loose over the gentle curve of her belly, memories of their evening together clicking over like the readouts of an enemy force’s assets before battle. He can almost taste the warmth of her pleasure, still, slick against his mouth. Her kisses after, open-mouthed and overwhelming with affection as he held her close, her hand around his erection bringing him to completion as Han took his pleasure inside her, the three of them sweaty and messy and tangled together in the breathless aftermath, warm and safe in their shared bed, her laughter in the ‘fresher as they bathed together, her belly smeared with his semen, her thighs wet from —

“You’re pregnant,” he says, looking up to meet Leia’s eyes. “From tonight. It’s happened tonight, from our —“

“Luke, you can’t possibly know that,” Leia says.

“But if you are —“

“Then we’ll figure it out,” Leia interrupts him. She looks at Han, the older man’s eyes wide with unrestrained panic. _“All_ of us. Just as we’ve always done before.”

———

Luke’s deep in meditation when Leia comes to him a week later, her presence pressing against his consciousness with insistence he rarely feels from her, her respect for his training normally as constant as her commitment to the Alliance. She settles beside him when he opens his eyes and smiles at her, leans against him, her head resting on his shoulder, almost cuddling when he slips his arm around her, keeping her close.

“I never thought I’d say it,” she says when he asks if she’s all right, the tension in her body clear to him, as close as she is, “but I love it when we’re wrong.”

“Oh?” he says. “Who’s ‘we?’”

“You and I,” Leia says.

Luke smiles into her hair, warm from the sun. “And what were we wrong about?” he says.

“Our vision,” she says, her words dropping like a stone into the pit of Luke’s stomach. He jostles her, pushing her away to look her in the eye, confusion blending with panic as he takes in the grin stretching her mouth, wide enough to show teeth.

The grin fades a little as she sighs, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m not pregnant, Luke,” she says. “We were wrong about that night — about the vision coming true because of it. It can’t. I can’t be pregnant.”

Luke swallows. “You’re sure?” he says.

“I am. I’m also an aching mess and couldn’t be happier about it,” Leia sighs. She presses a hand against her belly. “I never thought I’d be so happy to be in so much pain, but here we are.”

Luke pulls her close, dropping his hand to her lower back to work the tension there with the skill of long practice. “I’m glad,” he says, stroking her upper arm with his other hand when she sighs in pleasure and leans forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “I was concerned.”

Leia breathes a laugh against his chest. “You were _terrified,”_ she corrects. “We all were.”

“I was. Have you told Han?”

Leia shakes her head. “Not yet.”

“He’ll be glad to hear it.”

Another laugh. “He will. I’ll send him to you for the celebrations, though. I want no part of it.”

Luke smiles and rubs harder at his sister’s back, resting his cheek against her hair, reveling in the release of the knot he’s carried in his chest since the night he saw Han die, helpless to save him. He kisses Leia’s hair, closing his eyes and reaching for her through the Force, her presence a comfort as always, almost a mirror of his own existence. Feels the glow of her fertility, the potential energy of her body’s tremendous capability as striking and awe-inspiring as it was the first time he felt it, left wondering in his young ignorance what he was sensing in the woman he’d accidentally fallen in love with.

“This doesn’t mean we were entirely wrong, you know,” he says, after a moment, as the euphoria of Leia’s news cools into realization. “Just because you aren’t now, doesn’t mean —“

“— that it won’t happen in the future. Yes, I’m aware of that,” Leia says. She rubs her forehead against Luke’s shoulder, nestling into the curve of his neck “But we can take precautions, now. Prevent it from happening.”

“And if you decide you and Han want to have a child?”

Leia pushes away and fixes Luke with the sort of expression that would terrify a lesser man. Luke endures it.

“If I ever decide that,” she says, “then please, have me checked for head injuries. I love Han — just as much as you do, you know that — but he would be a terrible father.” She cups his cheek in her hand, silencing Luke’s automatic objections with the brush of the pad of her thumb against his lips. “You _know_ he would, Luke. It’s not in his make-up to be ... _constant._ Or nurturing. You know that as well as I do.”

“Yes,” Luke concedes, “but —“

Leia shakes her head. “We won’t,” she said. “And if we ever think we should, we’ll have you to talk sense into us. Right?”

Luke nods, dread settling heavy in his belly. “Right.”

He closes his eyes when Leia leans forward to kiss him on the lips. “I love you,” she says, breathed across his mouth.

Luke smiles and kisses her again. “I love you, too,” he says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~And then Ep VII didn’t happen. The end.~~

(Ok but seriously, Han isn’t dad material. Leia knows that. All I can figure is that Ben happened immediately after the Battle of Endor, when Leia wasn’t thinking straight. And if you think we can’t all just capitalize on that until the cows come home, then you don’t know much about fic’ers.)

(Also, I seem to have a weird fixation with Leia and menstruation? I really, honestly, do not know where that’s coming from. Maybe because she’s the first female character I have ever — and I do mean _ever_ — written and, more importantly, _enjoyed_ writing. And because my happy little headcanon sees Luke doting on her during her period in ways I wish-wish- _wish_ I were doted on when my uterus decides to stage a coup ever month, the result is a lot of Leia bleeding and being miserable. I’ll feel bad about it later.)

(Also-also, I was wandering downtown Houston looking for a grocery store that sold prunes because I had a ~craving~ and this shit popped into my head. I wrote it after passing out in a food coma in my hotel room and waking at 3:30 am. Jet-lag is bad for me, and just getting worse the more I travel. I’m so ready to go home and grow some roots for a hot minute oh my god.)

(Also-also-also, Houston International Airport is not a good place to be if you’re vegetarian. I thought I was either going to starve to death or die of cheese there, why have none of the in-airport restaurants heard of vegetables they’re not just for cows to eat you know GAH.)

(Oh, and I don’t like this story. I’m posting it just ‘cause. And stuff.)


End file.
